Lacey LaCour

My Daughter’s Best Friend

Mon, 20 Jul 2026 03:31:07 -0700

The Mirror.

Like mother, not like daughter.

Well, perhaps she is a lot like me. The me before she decided mirrors were the bane of her existence. As I mentioned previously, I used to like mirrors. There was always a silly friend on the other side, and she would copy my faces, wave back to me, and make laugh.

Colette found that same friend. She loves her mirror friend! Whenever she sees her, she tries to stop to check in on her, and at the very least for a little wave hello. Her mirror friend has been there from the beginning. From first glance, she decided never to betray her. I am amazed at their friendship!

Since the age of 2, you could catch Colette and her best friend playing dress up, applying makeup, trying new hairstyles, practicing smiles, approving outfits, or even having a conversation. Nothing has changed. She’s a sophomore in high school. One of those supposedly insecure teenagers. Yet, Colette remains close friends with the mirror. Sometimes she confuses her friends when she waves hello. They think she’s waving at them, but she’s actually excited to see her best friend looking back at her.

Considering my previous post, you may wonder how I feel about this relationship. My daughter having such a close connection with my nemesis. I adore it! I am so incredibly happy that she does not avoid mirrors, and she even actively seeks them out.

She’s actually kind of in your face about how much she loves her best friend. I suppose some people may get the wrong idea. And, I guess that’s their problem. Her best friend has helped her develop her own style, personality, and confidence. I mean, of course they have their little fights, but they make up after some space and deep breaths. I love how those feelings never take hold. She can always go back to loving her.

Maybe her healthy relationship will help me learn to let the mirror into my life little by little. She doesn’t have to worry though, I won’t ever be competing for her best friend’s attention.

My Nemesis

Mon, 20 Jul 2026 02:54:21 -0700

The mirror

Or photos of me.

There is only one time in my life I remember liking mirrors. My parents had a mirror on the wall behind their bed. Up to age 5ish, I would look in that mirror and make faces. I don’t remember looking in the mirror with an opinion of how I looked, but I do remember my parents laughing and saying “Lacey, always looking in a mirror.” A seemingly harmless observation. Unfortunately my innate negative bias for comments about me interpreted that as something bad. I should not look in mirrors and be happy. It hasn’t changed since.

If my body image came from what I’ve heard from others my entire life, I’d probably have an inflated ego. My parents never failed to tell me how beautiful I was. My mom especially loved to encourage me to dress in a way that displayed my beauty; I joke that I was my mom’s Barbie doll. My older sister always teased that I was “the pretty one.” That could have been a dig at my smarts, but I think it was more genuinely about how she saw me, especially in comparison to herself at the time. My peers from elementary school through college told me I was beautiful. In middle school, I even got a note from some boys telling me that they thought I was pretty, and they hoped I would choose to talk to them. I know peers and adults thought I was traditionally beautiful. As many times as Jonathan has told me I’m beautiful, you would think at some point I would believe it. I believe that they think I’m beautiful, but I have never been able to look at myself in a mirror and have that thought. Looking at photos of myself has very rarely offered a different perspective.

As I’ve gotten older and larger, I try to believe the honesty of others appreciating my beauty. Comments about my appearance never translated into pride or even body positivity. Prior to my very obvious body transformation, I never really doubted what others thought. Their views weren’t ever enough to convince my brain, but at least I could objectively know that I fit within one of society’s acceptable body types. I was decidedly never fat. My stomach was flat, my boobs were big but perky, my ass was a squeezable bubble. I know “fat” doesn’t actually mean unattractive, but it does to much of society. Even so, I’d look in the mirror and hate my chubby cheeks, my thick thighs, and my arms that seemed bigger than all my other skinny friends’. The one feature of my physical appearance that I actually loved was my eyes. All of that has changed.

My cheeks remain chubby, my chin has doubled, my thighs are thick and jiggly, my boobs have inflated so much that I can barely see over them to my stomach in its new apron-like state, and those damn flabby arms just complete the picture of a woman who has let herself go. Or so my brain and the world tells me.

Even my eyes. I tried to examine them in the mirror to try to feel something positive about this vessel for my spirit. Nope. I used to love my chocolate brown eyes. I would pretend that Van Morrison wrote “Brown-eyed Girl” envisioning me—yeah, yeah I know I wasn’t even a speck in my parents’ eyes when it was written, but obviously I came to him in a vision. The mirror doesn’t even let me have that anymore. Those chocolate drops look like year-old Hershey bars. Those bright orbs look like dying stars.

I know that my children don’t see me that way. They make comments about how soft I am to lay on. My daughter calls me pretty. My son loves my squishy hugs. My husband assures me he still finds me beautiful.

But here I am. I talk back to the same thoughts whether I am a 106lb bride or a 220lb mom. I’ve done the work. The coaching. I worked with a great body relationship coach. She moved the needle for me. She gave me the tools. It’s those tools that keep me from drowning in shame. Yet. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I think “yuck.” I see my large body taking up most of the frame of a photo, and I can’t see the memory. I only see those cheeks, that chin, those boobs, and those damn arms again.

One would think the solution is easy. Cut calories and workout. However, I have learned that I cannot go on a restrictive diet. My brain goes into all or nothing. I either completely lose my apetite, or I feel shame with every bite of food I take. During and after my coaching, I developed a healthier relationship with food and with movement. I was able to shift my mindset from “I need to lose weight” to “I want to feel healthy. I want to be able to even entertain the idea of kicking the soccer ball around again. I want to get my heart rate going and be certain that it’s because I’m moving and not because I’m spiraling into a panic attack.” I adopted intuitive eating to make food choices. I opened my mind to what qualifies as healthy movement (secret: it’s any movement, and then you just get to pick which types feel best for your body at that time). I was making progress.

I could frame the disgust with my body in more positive ways. I’m trying to give examples, but I am so far removed from that mindset, that I truly can’t. You know what is an evil trick? Finally starting to trust your body, starting to see it as more than something to be judged by yourself and society, and then fucking getting cancer.

Yes, I’m on what some may consider the “other side” of cancer. My body got me through it. I survived surgery and chemo. I should be grateful that I have a body to be walking this earth in. Sure, I don’t see my scars as flaws and imperfections. I guess that’s actually something I can frame positively about my body. My scars tell as story, a shitty story, but a story nonetheless. However, when one has struggled the majority of her life to appreciate and trust her body, I bet you could understand how a cancer diagnosis could destroy that relationship.

Why am I sharing this? Not for affirmations. Please, please don’t respond to this with ANY comments or compliments about my physical appearance, even if it’s the “true beauty is within” perspective. I know this, and I actually think I have a pretty attractive soul. I’m not for all people, but I do love who I am, most of the time.

Honestly, it’s just been on my heart. I know I’m not alone in these feelings. Sadly, I know my story isn’t even rare. I guess it’s just another example of beauty standards doing their usual damage. Maybe I worry for the kids growing up in a world being bombarded with messages of what will make you feel good about your appearance from the latest influencer. Maybe I have hope that the kids growing up will have a diverse enough algorithm to show them that “beauty standards” are bullshit.

In my case, the standards are ingrained deeply. Obviously I have a lot of work to do. There are many facets that contribute to my negative body image, and I will continue to explore them. For now, I dwell more on my mind and spirit. The mirrors can keep their reflections to themselves.

It Wasn’t a Side Quest

Tue, 14 Jul 2026 13:45:48 -0700

As much as I wanted cancer to be a blip in my story, or a side quest that I did and then returned to the actual plot of my life, it sadly doesn’t work that way. I suppose I have to admit, it changed me. There are the body changes that don’t solely have an impact on how your body moves in this world; you have to deal with the psychological impacts of that too. There is the frequent monitoring that reminds you in a unavoidable way that cancer could come back and metastasize at any time. Let’s face it though, that thought crosses my mind many times every single day. In that same vein, when Colette and I talk about her future adult life, I can’t help but think, and sometimes somewhat jokingly say, “I’ll be dead by then.”

Then there are the trauma triggers that make my stomach turn. Surprisingly I still enjoy a cold Sprite, but there are some times when I open our pantry, see the Sprite, and I remember the warm Sprite. It was one of the only liquids that didn’t make me want to gag at the time, but now, my whole body reacts. It starts with the turning stomach, followed by the tensing of my neck and facial muscles, then that overwhelming feeling of your body wanting to melt into tears and curl up in a ball. For me, there is the wall. My body may be telling me to feel through the grief, but there is also this inability to relax enough to allow it to flow.

Those same physical and mental reactions happen when I see Instant Breakfast and peanut butter, my chemo bag, and my hoodie. Thankfully we don’t keep Instant Breakfast in our home anymore, but every now and then I get a whiff of peanut butter and immediately taste that warm chocolate sludge. It sustained me, but I will never recommend a warm smoothie to anyone but another chemo patient who can’t tolerate cold liquids. My chemo bag sits in plain sight at the back of my closet. I don’t notice it every time, but when I do, the memories come rushing back. My hoodie. One of my favorite hoodies. I got it from the Las Vegas Cirque de Soleil show The Beatles Love. Such a positive message felt comforting to wear to most of my chemo sessions, and for the first few scans it held the power of guaranteeing a NED result; or so the rules I make up in my brain said. It still hangs among the dozen other hoodies in my closet. I get a glimpse of the white sleeve with the pastel pink and green accents, and I think, “Should I pack that away? Why did I tarnish my favorite hoodie with such bad memories?” I imagine it’s kind of like coming across your ex-boyfriend’s hoodie. I mean the ex-boyfriend that was much needed at the time but eventually became toxic, not the one that deserved the hoodie to be set on fire.

I haven’t packed it away, not because I long for my chemo days, obviously. It’s another on of those rules. If I put my chemo bag and my hoodie in storage or out of sight, I’ll just invite recurrence. It’s a rule. I know it’s not mentally healthy. I know I should go through the emotional exposure therapy process of proving that rule wrong, but I’m not ready. I’m proud of myself for not having to wear my hoodie to my follow- up scans and appointments. Exposure therapy is about baby steps. I’m not sure what the next step is in that packing it up process, but I know it’s not sealing it away in a box for storage yet.

In September, at my hopefully 2 year NED anniversary, I am supposed to graduate to my blood tests being reduced to every 6months with my scans. Those 2 extra follow-up appointments will be dropped. I’m not so sure that will reduce my anxiety around recurrence, but I suppose I won’t be holding my breath afraid of results turning my world upside down again. I don’t imagine my hoodie will find a new place in September, perhaps year 3, currently my goal is year 5.

For now, I will continue to take little dips into my trauma and find ways to heal on my time. As much as I wish it had been a side quest, I am slowly accepting that cancer is integral in pushing my story forward. So here we go. Onward.

The Heart Grows Fonder

Mon, 13 Jul 2026 21:28:36 -0700

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. Does it really though? And is that even healthy when you are already obsessed with your daughter?!

So, it’s night one without our clever girl trying to make us laugh, singing loudly from her room, or leaving crafty messes around the house. I speak as if she’s gone for some extreme amount of time. She’s not. It’s not like she’s off at college in NYC yet. Just at her beloved summer camp for 9 days/8 nights; it’s not like I’m counting or anything.

I’m being a brave, slightly less codependent mommy this time. I sent her with just 2 letters from me. I did that thing when you’re supposed to let your kid prioritize their friends over you; I stealthily got letters from a few of her friends to sneak into her camp bag. Am I dying to know what her reaction was when she found them? Uhhhh yes! Am I going to know anytime soon?…well in 9 days. It’s possible that I’m slightly delusional to think she will pose for a photo that sends me a covert message of thanks in the camp updates. I have already been instructed to send along a planned photo to a friend if it shows up in the camp app, so like, of course she’s going to send a nod to me. Or…that’s the friends over parent thing coming up. Dammit.

Given I cannot fill her inbox with daily updates from home this year, I fear this audience may be getting a slew of my thoughts this week. I have had a lot in my queue, so maybe this is the time to polish those up. Maybe I’ll finally break open that CleverPoppy cross stitch beginner’s package. Maybe I’ll finally make a concentrated effort on one of the many children books that I have halfway written. Perhaps for a parent like me, who should truly not become fonder of her child, distance will make my heart grow fonder of myself.

The Wedding

Fri, 20 Mar 2026 18:07:31 -0700

The love story continues well beyond the wedding day. The wedding day felt perfect. There were hiccups. But the love and the atmosphere created a cherished core memory.

March 20, 2004

Waking up in a lovely hotel bed. Excitement. Nerves. The hair appointment.

My nine bridesmaids. My childhood best friend. My four best high school friends. My two best college friends. My sister-in-law to be. My sister. 36 weeks pregnant.

All together getting dressed. Praying over me. Perfecting my makeup. Holding my dress while I pee.

My mom. The necklace. The tears.

He’s with his groomsmen. Nine. Fraternity brothers. High school friends. Childhood friend. Brother-in-law. Brother-in-law to be.

The men. Getting their barber razor shaves. Some cuts. Some blood. Lots of laughs.

Texting existed. Making sure everyone was on schedule and no cold feet.

I was shivering, but with excitement. He was calm and sure.

We are there. The old freight depot. The whale mural. Chairs set up. Orange blossoms hang in jars on the aisles. Soft lights hang from the gazebo.

My bouquet. A flower from each matriarch’s wedding bouquet. All white. Calla lilies. Carnations. Daisies. Roses. Orange blossoms. My addition Gardenias.

Photos with family and wedding party. Separately. No sneak peek. He will see me come down the aisle.

Notes to each other as we wait. Guests arrive. I try to eat an apple so I don’t faint. Nervous burps caught on video. A prayer circle with my bridesmaids. I shout, “Yeehaw! I’m gettin’ married!”

The orchestra begins to play. My little brothers, 15 and 14, seat the guests. They seat the family. And help light the memorial candles. My grandpa, his grandpa, my cousin. There, with us in spirit.

He walks in with his best man. I wait in the back until it’s time.

The processional music begins. The groomsmen march down in a group two by two. My bridesmaids carrying red carnations walk steadily down the aisle. The ring bearer taking his role seriously. He is Frodo. The flower girl gently tossing the petals to mark my path. It’s almost time.

My veil covers my face. My dad links my arm. We stand ready.

A beautiful voice from childhood sings “Do you believe in something that you’ve never seen before There is love”

The processional.

I take slow steps towards him. Taking it all in. My eyes on him. I just have to get to him. Water fills his eyes. He’s ready.

My dad lifts my veil.

Finally, I grab his hands. We face each other. We know. We are certain. This is us. We are ready.

1Corinthians 13. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Proverbs 31. A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.

Song of Solomon. How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are doves. My beloved is mine and I am his.

Homily. The 3 C’s. Creation, Covenant, and Consummation. The vows. The rings.

A Celtic Blessing. May the road rise to meet you.

The announcement. The kiss. The presentation. Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan and Lacey LaCour.

We exit to applause. He holds me. I tuck my head into his neck. We did it. Committed to each other. In sickness and in health. In plenty and in want. In joy and in sorrow. As long as we both shall live

A Love Story Part 4

Fri, 20 Mar 2026 02:06:03 -0700

Decision time. Six years together. High school and college. What is next? Freshly out of college. Living in the same city. Young adulting. I knew. He wasn’t ready. Do I wait? Does absence make the heart grow fonder?

A conversation with his twin spirit. Jonathan to Jonathan. What is stopping him? Decision made.

The window shopping trip. What cut? Which metal? What size? A reality. Are we doing this?

Saving. Two months salary. Custom design. The wondering. Keeping those nails painted. When will it be? Grand gesture? Quiet moment?

July 15th, 2003. A picnic. That puppy. A ring tied to his collar. The question. Yes!

The giggles. The shock. The excitement. The phone calls. The visits. Surreal.

The planning. The bridesmaids. Nine. The Matron of Honor. My sister. She’s pregnant!

The stress. The new symptoms. Heart racing. Hot flashes. Cold rushes. Stomach aching. Out of body. Loss of appetite. Losing weight. Panic Disorder. Not the wedding. Just me.

Wedding showers. Southern traditions. Our dinnerware pattern. Our silver. Our crystal. A registry. Towels. Sheets. Pots. Pans. Knives…

Choosing colors. The shopping. The dress. The cake. The flowers. The venue. The photographer. The videographer. The coordinator. The deposits.

The invitations. The guest list. 300…ish. Fraternity brothers, sorority sisters, a church, high school friends, childhood friends, family friends. The ring bearer. The flower girl. Seven years of life with so much support. All invited to witness.

The officiant. Easy. Pastor Al. His father.

The music. The vows. The rings. The food. The dances. The toasts. The getaway car!

Everything planned. Ready to commit. Twenty-two years ago today. March 20, 2004.

A Love Story Part 3

Thu, 19 Mar 2026 17:24:56 -0700

The college years. Our love tested again. The plan was me in SC, him in GA. Exploring life in new places with new people, while staying true to each other.

Phone calls, chats, emails, and visits.

Hope soon turned into despair.

20 years old. He held me. He encouraged me. He gave me a voice. A long year of despair and transition. With him. He stayed.

Different schools. Same city. New friends, old friends. His friends, my friends. Lives intertwined yet separate.

Fraternity and sorority mixers, parties, semi-formals, and formals. Football games, school traditions. Study times, dinners, concerts. Nights out, nights in. The college years.

Him in year 4, me in year 2. Not so fast. I catch up. 5 years for him, 3 years for me.

Another time apart. Him in Australia, New Zealand, and Japan. Me curled up in a ball missing him and making up stories. “He found a new love. I’m left with a puppy and a necklace.”No. He thinks of me. He calls when he can. I stay busy with my friends, his friends, and that puppy. I wear that necklace to remind me of his love. 12 weeks then he returns. Back together.

Job seeking for him. What’s next for me? Where will he work? Long distance again? Do I follow? No. We both stay. Together. In our hometown. Where we met.

Finally, stepping into our futures together.

Interlude: College Detour

Wed, 18 Mar 2026 22:50:28 -0700

“You are so ungrateful!” My parents scolded me as I sat on our living room couch with hot tears streaming down my cheeks into the corners of my mouth. I had just finished a prepared proposal for my parents explaining why they should let me go to the school where I got a half scholarship rather than the one where I got the full scholarship. I didn’t really want to attend the school that offered me a full ride. However, my parents told me I was looking a gift horse in the mouth if I didn’t apply, because I was a shoo-in for the scholarship. While I was grateful for the private school education my parents funded, I hadn’t realized I was expected to cover all my college costs with scholarships. I honestly don’t think that was a condition until they realized it was a possibility. Alas, I decided to follow my parents’ wishes and put on a happy face for my future at Converse College in Spartanburg, South Carolina.

After returning my acceptance of my scholarship offer, the soccer coach didn’t wait long to call me. I had already decided that I didn’t want to play soccer in college. It felt like a big commitment to something that I enjoy, but not something I wanted to take over my life. Although in this case, I wasn’t sure what kinds of social opportunities there would be at this tiny women’s college. Thus, I decided to agree to join the soccer team.

All summer, I tried to psych myself up to go to a college I didn’t want to attend and to play soccer in college, which I hadn’t planned on. I did the whole get your roommate, plan your dorm decorations, and divide up things to bring. I really did try. It was hard, though, to see my friends excitedly preparing for their desired college destinations.

Of course, because of joining the soccer team, I was the first of my high school friends to leave for school. I had to be there for conditioning before any of the other students arrived on campus. I was assigned my temporary roommate for the 2 weeks of training. And well, let’s say that was the first red flag. While she was a nice girl, she had the habit of chewing tobacco, and with that comes the spitting. We can all “we listen, and we don’t judge,” but you better believe this Atlanta premier private high school graduate was judging the girl toting the plastic water bottle with her black spit swishing at the bottom. Where was I?! I found out that chewing tobacco wasn’t a unique habit among the other soccer players. Again, where was I? These girls were kind, so there was no reason to dislike them, and I didn’t. I just felt completely out of place. They were Southern with a capital S. Most of them were small-town Southern. Converse seemed to be a vehicle for them to find a husband, or as some say, their MRS degree at a women’s college that may seem like a tall order. Well, the system had been worked out seamlessly. Go to school during the week, spend weekends at the surrounding colleges to nab yourself a guy. You’d think that wouldn’t have been so bad for me, considering I had a boyfriend of 4 years that I would be happy to visit back in Atlanta, just a 2.5 hr drive away.

While that ended up being my routine after trying a few weekends by myself on campus, it hadn’t been the plan. My boyfriend and I had been together for 4 years, and this was supposed to be us doing the long-distance thing. He had already been in college for 2 years, but he was in the same metro area, so I saw him quite regularly. We had both agreed that I should do my best to stay on campus and do things with new friends instead of making the drive back down to Atlanta routinely for my comfort. I needed to spread my wings a bit.

Back to those first weeks, I trained and played with the soccer team. I felt like I fit in on the field, but I didn’t really have anything else in common with my teammates. I did find a couple of people with whom I connected. It wasn’t so much that we came from similar backgrounds but more that we could be goofy together. There was one girl who, when I saw her for the first time, I was sure we had met before, but I couldn’t place her. I decided we must have played against each other in one of the several tournaments I had done around the country. My friendship with her is what ultimately gave me hope that I could still make Converse work. I was still really fighting the feeling of not wanting soccer to be my life. I stayed on the team for a few games but ultimately decided to go with my gut and quit. Good thing my scholarship wasn’t tied to that, or I’m sure I wouldn’t have been allowed to make a different choice. I was hopeful that I would find other social outlets.

By the time I had quit the team, I had moved in with my new roommate, who was definitely a much better fit, personality-wise and habit-wise. Again, she was a small-town Southern girl who had a very different upbringing than I, but she was as sweet as could be, with a refreshing honesty you don’t often get with Southern girls. We joined a Bible study together, sat with each other in the cafeteria, hung out in our dorm room quoting funny movies, and spent hours increasing our Napster collections. I met some sweet girls through Bible study, including another girl I had sworn I knew before arriving at Converse. I guess what I found so incompatible with my expectations was the level of naïveté and the lack of world experience and ambition among most of these girls. I wouldn’t ever describe myself as ambitious; one who follows her passions, yes. Ambitious? No. Maybe it was actually that. The lack of passion and purpose, aside from being Christ-like examples. At that time in my life, you’d think I’d slide right into that crowd. I did not. I still felt like I didn’t fit. I couldn’t find lasting joy in anything, no matter how often or how hard I prayed, or how many different academic or social activities I tried to immerse myself in.

The school even had sister classes. Juniors would be matched with Freshmen to bring them into the culture and fold of Converse, and they would continue to compete against the other paired classes, Seniors and Sophomores. I can’t even remember what the other cohort was called, but I know I was a pink panther. Alas, I wasn’t pulled in by that either.

I was a mess. I never felt rested, and my stomach was always aching, so I started missing classes. To my unpleasant surprise, my absence was noticed. I received phone calls from my professors asking why I was missing class. And, well, you don’t want to have to say I am deeply depressed, and I have no will to get out of bed. Most of what I had been learning was just a repeat of what I had already learned in high school, so I wasn’t falling behind with work or grades. It was just that every time I walked out of my dorm, I was overcome with sadness, and the tears would begin to flow. What college student wants to go to class with a tear-stained face?

Acknowledging that I was depressed, I went to see the counselor on campus. I did not find her helpful in any sort of way. She basically told me I was having separation anxiety, and I just needed to try more interactions and activities.

I remember walking the aisles of Office Depot with my dad when he came to visit to help me buy and set up a printer. I struggled with whether to tell him how sad I was. When I told him I didn’t want to be there anymore, he told me I needed to suck it up. I told him at the very least I need to find a therapist, again, he told me that I would get over the depression soon and that I needed to stay for the full year. While I understand the transition to a new city, state, and educational level takes time to adjust to, I knew what I was feeling was more than that.

That became an undeniable truth on one of my drives back from Atlanta, where I had been for the weekend with that boyfriend of mine I mentioned above. A Converse friend of mine had a boyfriend at Georgia Tech, so we would drive down there together on Friday and return to Converse on Sunday. On this particular Sunday, I was having a very hard time making myself go back, but it wasn’t a choice; I had my friend with me who needed to get back in time for school on Monday. As I was driving, I looked up at the almost full moon and started having an existential crisis. I tried to tell my brain to be quiet, but I thought, “What if I jerked the wheel and ended my pain?” Thankfully, it was just a thought: a dangerous thought, but just a thought. I started crying and told my friend I needed to pull over. I explained that I wasn’t sure I could go any closer to the campus that night. After calling my boyfriend and settling down, we decided to stay one more night in Atlanta. That was my breaking point. I knew that I needed out.

I related the story to my parents, who told me I hadn’t given it enough time and that I was just homesick and lovesick. They assured me that if I gave it a year, I would realize I loved it. The idea of leaving at the end of the semester was a non-starter. After a few more weeks of depression, I approached my parents again, and I was given an out.

The rules were: I needed a clear plan for how I was going to finish college and, more immediately, how I was going to get into a school for the Spring semester. I was given my assignment, and I made it happen. I would transfer to the community college and live at home. I would then go to an in-state school to take advantage of the HOPE scholarship and find my own living arrangements. I would nanny to earn spending money and finish school, with the goal of becoming a therapist specializing in working with Christian clients. I had it all figured out.

I left Converse in December, and I didn’t look back. I stayed in touch with about five people from that traumatic semester. In the spring semester, I did as I had planned. I attended the local community college. I visited four-year colleges to transfer to, and I made a list of prospects. Things ended up falling into place for me to go to Georgia State, a neighboring school to Georgia Tech. So the whole idea of having independent, unique college experiences didn’t exactly go as planned. I can’t say I would choose to go that route again, but if it’s what it took to get to my current destination, it was worth it.

A Love Story Part 2

Sun, 15 Mar 2026 22:33:12 -0700

How?

How do you bridge the gap? A Spring semester high school Senior and a high school Sophomore. Against the odds, we bridged critical phases. Him a Senior, me a Sophomore. Him a college Freshman, me a Junior in high school. Him a 2nd year college student, me a high school Senior. The experiences, especially of those in that senior/sophomore and freshman/junior timeframe, are vastly different. One making decisions about their next four years, the other still preparing for those decisions. One with a new found independence while the other wishes for it but isn’t quite ready.

How did we do it? Honestly, I have no idea. One could attribute it to our Christian faith at the time, but basically all my friends had similar beliefs but didn’t end up with their high school sweetheart. Emotional maturity? Yes, but there was still quite a lot for us to learn and definitely growing pains. Stubbornness? Maybe. Neither of us wanted to give up. Or was it neither of us wanted to actually try to date again? Love? It had to be. But not giggly sweet love, not hot and heavy love. Of course there was a lot of romance and physical attraction. It was a love that was deep and unwavering. A love that fed off of playfulness, quiet moments, moments of discomfort, moments of comfort, and a whole lot of honesty and communication.

The growing pains were painful. Why did we stick through it? Why did we decide to prioritize each other and be so committed? I truly don’t remember making that decision, so I can’t honestly give an answer. There is part of me that wants to say that neither of us wanted to have to go through a break up, but there is no way that is enough to keep teens or young adults together. And 29 years later there is not a single fiber of my being that feels stuck with him or that I missed out on other opportunities. No what ifs.

So here you go, a little train of thought of memories of that time:

A spring semester high school senior and high school sophomore. The world is his oyster. High school is her bubble. Trying to navigate two different phases of life while still in love and devoted. He graduates. She dreads the hardest year of high school to come. He is out on his own, setting his own rules. She has to be home by curfew. His mind savoring his freedom. Her mind fearing that she will be left behind.

Prom, parties, movies, dates, cuddling, soccer games, and romance.

Jealousy. Smothering. Insecurity. Countered with: Trust. Assurances. Vulnerability. Honesty. Communication.

Weekend nights on her parents’ couch. The infamous “weed-out” semester of Georgia Tech. The APs and college pressure for her. An ulcer for him. Panic attacks for her. Each other’s comfort and safe harbor.

Second semester, less pressure for him. More for her. Which schools? SATs. AP tests. An invitation to join a fraternity. A naive fear of Animal House. “Cradle-robber” taunts no match for his love. “Date around” prodding no match for her love.

College parties, movies, dates, cuddling, soccer games, and romance.

Second year college. Last year high school. He’s locked in to his path. Co-op 5 year plan. She’s figuring out hers. Which schools? Stay close. For him or for her? For her is him. For him is her. They will always be.

Fraternity semi-formals, formals, and parties. Dances, prom, nights out, soccer games. Romance. Curfew.

A college chosen. A college not of her choice. Three hours away. It fits the plan. It doesn’t fit her. A summer of tears, comfort, and encouragement. Four years of love. An agreement to stay together. A test of long distance.

To be continued…

A Love Story Part 1

Thu, 05 Feb 2026 03:28:45 -0700

The cute boy at the mission trip fundraiser. I was 14. He was 16. That was a no-go. But a note in my 8th grade yearbook that assures I will continue to get “Jonathan LaCour” updates. “Went out” with a couple guys the Fall of my Freshman year, 15 at this point. Broken-hearted on Valentine’s Day. A realization that 15 made the prospect a bit more acceptable. An “outreach opportunity” to get us in the same room. In a room full of youth group teens, me finding my way to be next to him. Watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and So I Married an Axe Murderer as he made quiet jokes. Disappointment when the night is over. Elation when he asks for my phone number. That was it. High school sweethearts to husband and wife in 7 years. Through some of the most formative years of a person’s life. I look back at our mementos, and I wonder how in the world was that 17yr old boy so mature to be able to be so good at communication and honesty?

I read the letters we sent to each other, and I think, “wow, we fell deep, quickly.” We didn’t go to the same high school. We didn’t see each other every day. We didn’t even talk on the phone every day. There are love notes and poems. Cards with notes and trinkets to send with each other when one of us would go out of town. Mixtapes and CDs with songs precisely chosen to convey how we felt about each other. I’d like to call it puppy love. I’d like to say, “oh boy we were just kids.” But as I go through these keepsakes, I am dumbfounded at our maturity.

Of course there was a lot to learn. We made mistakes. We navigated disagreements and relationship needs and boundaries. Yet neither of us decided it was too much. We weren’t thinking of marriage, but we sure were committed to each other from day one. There wasn’t much of a “let’s see how this goes” time for us. Maybe there was, and I don’t remember it. The evidence I kept does not bear that out though.

The first year. I can feel that one in my bones.

Our first date: A call to tell him that traffic is terrible and he may want to take another route. Standing around the kitchen island fumbling with my lipstick waiting nervously for his arrival. The cute boy in his cream polo shirt, black jeans, and converse. Blushing as he opens the passenger side door to his car. Immediate comfort and ease of conversation. Learning about each other “I’m a good girl. I roll with the punches.” A dinner at Fratelli. My pre-dinner warning that I can’t eat around boys. I didn’t eat around boy. Meeting up with his friend for moral support at Cafe Intermezzo. More connecting as he gets me home in time for curfew. The perfect first date. Butterflies, laughs, and comfort.

Our first kiss: His hand gently touching my chin to turn my face toward his. Everything else in that movie theater fading into the distant background.

His Junior prom: A freshman girl trying to find the confidence to fit in with the upperclassmen. The boy I was giddy over not having a care in the world as he was teased about “robbing the cradle.” Ensuring I felt beautiful and wanted and welcome. I can still feel how our bodies touched for the first time as we danced closely.

Our first summer: Being torn about leaving on exciting adventures while leaving the other behind. Sending envelopes marked for each day we would be apart, sometimes with lyrics to a pertinent song, sometimes a quick note, and even the tab from a soda can to signify an IOU for a kiss upon return. Standing in line at the amusement park with his arms wrapped around me from behind.

My 16th birthday: A picnic set up in the park. Framed art featuring Winnie the Pooh looking at his reflection in water “When I see me alone, I think of us together.”

His Senior year: Still deeply attached. Sophomore me needing reassurance that I wasn’t being left behind, while also learning that things were different for him in that last year of school. The sigh of relief that he would be going to college in the same city.

Our first Christmas: An engraved watch for him. A brown cashmere sweater for me. The gift he will never forgive himself for because he didn’t know brown was my least favorite color despite the color of my eyes.

Our first anniversary: A scavenger hunt around Atlanta to the places we had been throughout the year.

The memories become a bit less visceral after that. We bridged the gap between his first two years of college and my last two years of high school. Navigating those two completely different phases of life as a couple was no easy feat, but it was never a task that either of us wanted to give up on.

To be continued…

Scanxiety but like all the time

Wed, 04 Feb 2026 06:16:00 -0700

So you know there’s this thing called “scanxiety” for cancer survivors. We have routine scans to catch any recurrence early. It is amazing that we have technology to do so. I have to say though, scanxiety is just an intensifying of the general anxiety a cancer survivor lives with, or at least that I do.

When your life is interrupted by cancer, you never really return to how you were before cancer. For someone who had medical anxiety before cancer, that’s quite a thing to say. At an early age, my brain heard about tragedies of people connected to me by one degree or six, and I filed it for options of what my story would be. My brain can create some wild stories as evidenced by my nightly vivid and bizarre dreams. I love being creative and imaginative. The downfall though is letting my mind entertain too much creative license.

I overanalyze every conversation had, every text sent, every potential cosmic sign. If the experience is open-ended, we are off to the races. Heck, even if there has been a definitive answer, that pesky little bugger likes to try to add an epilogue. Mix that with actually having pretty good intuition, things can be exciting or incredibly confusing. Is it my anxious creative brain? Or is it a deep knowing?

When I started asking questions about my symptoms, it wasn’t just Dr. Google that tipped me off. I knew what it could be, and I tried to soothe myself and say it was just my brain going catastrophic. But I knew. I had a deep knowing. When my doctor said post-colonoscopy that he removed something a bit concerning but assured me “if it’s anything, it’s early,” I knew. After surgery, the relief that everyone else seemed to have that the worst of it was behind us didn’t fool me. I knew.

Now, I don’t know. Or at least I hope I don’t know. Scans this time around have shaken me. The first three post-chemo had me nervous, but I also had some confidence that everything was clear. I don’t feel that confidence now. I don’t know if it’s weariness from the world and “what’s one more thing,” or if it’s resignation, or if it’s a mind trick that I haven’t felt physically nervous so then if I’m not nervous enough then that means I’m going to get blindsided. Or maybe it’s the deep knowing.

You know what didn’t help my little creative brain that’s always looking for signs or making deals with God or the universe? One of the words on a daily puzzle last week being “recurrence.” I’ve had so much fun convincing myself that is not a sign!

You know what else doesn’t help? And this is ridiculous. Even though things in the world are terrible, things for my family are good. We don’t feel like we are getting pelted from every direction at the moment. With Colette specifically, I feel hopeful that she is going to get to such a better place by the end of this program. She is starting to figure out school. She is getting good feedback in theatre. She is figuring out how to connect with friends even though she’s at home while they are on campus learning and socializing. Guess what my brain does. It says, “hah! You think she’s well on her way, don’t you? Well your cancer is coming back, so she has no chance now. Your health is going to hold her back again. In school. In relationships. In her own health.” Rude.

So yeah, there’s a general anxiety between scans of just knowing things can change at any moment. Like you know there are trains on the tracks somewhere but they’re not in sight, so you play on the tracks with vigilance. The anxiety around scans time is more like you are on the tracks, and you see the train coming, but you can’t do anything to get out of the way. You just have to close your eyes and hope the train stops.

Here I am writing this at 4:30am the morning after my CT scans, because I am face to face with the train. Is it going to stop?

I Mommed So Hard!

Tue, 03 Feb 2026 01:36:45 -0700

After a year of having to delegate most of my mom duties in 2024, I dove back in head first in 2025. I mommed so hard this year.

There were health appointments, evaluations, 504 meetings, single parent weeks, rehearsals, birthday parties, and as mentioned in my previous post, lots of concerts and shows! I’m not sure why I was surprised that my Photos app’s year in review was all Colette.

Colette’s chronic pain and fatigue escalated in 2025, so I started searching for treatment options. She tried a few medications but never felt a difference, but also never really took them routinely enough for a difference to be made. In June we found a great local program that combines physical therapy, occupational therapy, and psychological therapy. Unfortunately with camps and travel we were unable to get her started with the program before school started.

I held my breath hoping Colette would be relieved of pain and have the stamina to attend 5 days/week of school. The first few weeks were ok. She made it through the school days, but she would come home to nap for about 2hrs. She would wake up, have dinner, try to get homework done, then fall back asleep by 10pm. As you can imagine, she fell behind on her work. Of course we had already put in guardrails with the school, so she wasn’t being penalized for late work. However, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so she was quite stressed about late work even if it wasn’t a grade issue; it was a meeting expectations issue for her. By late September, I thought we would get into a routine and overcome some of the fatigue. The first semester for any school change is rough.

By October 13th, she was in a full on flare. Crying in pain and so exhausted some days that she could barely get out of bed. She missed school from October 13-October 31st. However, by October 24th, she had decided that 5 days was just unsustainable. Thankfully, her school offers a program called Flex. The program allows for self-paced online courses, but with weekly to-do lists that keep you on track in order to graduate with your original classmates. She can go back to campus in the Fall if she feels like it will be sustainable, however, she currently thinks she will stick with Flex through graduation.

Because it is self-paced, Colette also has time for the program with the 3hrs of therapy each week. She started in January and will continue through March. I’m really hoping to see a marked difference. I’m not sure she’ll go back to her cartwheeling and silks days, but even just a little relief of not having to skip out on activities she once loved would be a major improvement.

Between supporting Colette through her school transition and finding treatment options, I was one busy mama in 2025. As per my previous post, of course we had to “buy the tickets” just for some stress relief.

Yes, William is still part of the family. There was advocating for him too. Thankfully, he hasn’t faced the physical challenges that Colette has. Give that kid some video games, YouTube, and DND, and we could probably go days without hearing from him. Unfortunately for him, his mama still needs her moments with her growing boy. And fortunately for me, he gets so excited to share parts of his games and the biggest challenge he is facing. He also loves to come teach me new and interesting facts. So, he pops his head out of his room periodically. One of my favorite things though is for me to be in the other room and to hear him just cackling to himself. Sometimes I’ll ask him what he was laughing at. He may remember, he may not. But it’s obvious that he is quite happy and content entertaining himself. This proves quite helpful when trying to support your more demanding child.

While I still kept some of my motherly duties in 2024, I came back with a vengeance in 2025. It was hard to feel like I missed out on a year with my kids. They were truly strong and supportive through my treatment, but I was ready to take care of THEM again.

2026 brings a new dynamic. Colette is turning 15, William will be 13. They are maturing and reaching that search for independence phase. As hard as teenage years are on these kids, I think it’s going to be hard on me too. I have to adjust my role as their parent. I want to hover. I want to protect. I want them to live life and have experiences, but damn, I’d really like to be able to control which lessons and how they learn them. I’m SLOWLY learning how to give them their space, but we’ll be learning this together. I definitely feel the clock ticking to figure out who I am apart from them. What other aspects of myself can I lean into? Considering it’s February 2nd, and I’m just getting around to posting this, I’m apparently not leaning into keeping this updated!

I have plans. I just have to tear myself away from my children to implement them. I’ve got 11 more months in 2026 to make progress on this. I can do it! Right?

2025: I bought the tickets

Wed, 07 Jan 2026 01:54:56 -0700

Reflecting after a wonderful evening attending a screening of Wicked: For Good with Colette. After the credits rolled, Kevin McCarthy “geeked out” with Ariana Grande. He asked so many insightful questions, and Ariana fielded them with grace and humor. I don’t have any regrets supporting the arts, especially when we get opportunities like this to hear industry professionals share the intricacies that you’d never know otherwise. More to come in 2026, but continue reading to learn where my money went in 2025!

While I had said that I didn’t feel some “carpe diem” attitude after finishing chemo and getting my “no evidence of disease” results, I did apparently adopt an attitude of “buy the tickets.” It started in January, when I bought tickets to Tahiti—a bucket-list destination since I was 12. It continued from there with the shows we saw in NYC in February. We had planned to see Romeo + Juliet and The Great Gatsby for sure, but I ended up adding All In before we left, and then Moulin Rouge while we were there. Things took off in May when I made Colette take me to Mamma Mia at the last minute on Mother’s Day. I then bought tickets for a few book interviews. Josh Groban interviewed Jeffrey Seller about his book, Theater Kid. Then, “holding space” lady, Tracy E. Gilchrist, interviewed Tommy Dorfman about her book, Maybe This Will Save Me. In June, we went to see Hugh Jackman at the Hollywood Bowl, took in the joy of Disneyland Pride Night, and were awed by Jeremy Jordan’s talent at his solo concert. July took us to Atlanta, and then, immediately upon our return, we saw Jesus Christ Superstar at the Hollywood Bowl. A pop-up Conan Gray show and a calm Wasia Project concert in August held us over until Chicago (the band) at the Hollywood Bowl and Disneyland Oogie Boogie Bash in September.

Then in October, we went all out with Conan Gray, Chappell Roan, and Jeremy Jordan’s band Age of Madness (a completely different show than in June). Throw in Les Miserables and Hadestown at The Pantages and The Nightmare Before Christmas at the Hollywood Bowl, and we pretty much had a show or two every week. We didn’t exactly slow down in November with going to two shows of Moulin Rouge, one at The Segerstrom Center and one at The Pantages, to see the amazing John Cardoza as Christian. Colette went to see Hadestown again, so it was two times for her. Then Jonathan, Colette, and I went to the Las Vegas Grand Prix!

Did we slow down in December? Well, a little. We went to Suffs at The Pantages, which was inspiring and better than I expected. I opted out of Jingle Ball, but sent Colette with two other friends and a willing chaperone. Colette got to see Conan Gray for the third time in a year, and she fell to her knees when she saw Renee Rapp live. We rounded out the month with another day at Disneyland to celebrate the holidays. I love the holiday parade, and I caught it two times this year.

Well, that was a lot. I should probably get a handle on things before I bankrupt us buying tickets. Well… we haven’t been to the shows yet, but we still have two musical theater season ticket packages left to finish at The Segerstrom and The Pantages. Did I buy tickets to the Landostand for the Silverstone Grand Prix in July 2026? Maybe… Did I also buy tickets to the ALTer Ego concert for January 17th? Well, yes. But I mean Green Day, Sublime, Twenty One Pilots, Good Charlotte, Cage the Elephant, Gigi Perez, Myles Smith, and Almost Monday, who can pass that up? Seeing Conan Gray three times in 12 months is definitely enough. Well, that is, until he announced The Wishbone World Tour with dates in Los Angeles. Other than continuing to subscribe to the Hollywood Bowl season, that might be enough tickets.

Oh, well, that is aside from having to see some shows in the West End when we go to London for the race. And um, Colette has us promising another trip to NYC to see Jack Wolfe as Orpheus in Hadestown on Broadway. Perhaps this “buy the tickets” is a new normal.

Encore!

Who am I, you ask? By Mohammed Yousef

Sat, 03 Jan 2026 15:32:56 -0700

Who am I, you ask?

I am the sum of all I’ve encountered, all I’ve experienced
I am the pages of books I’ve devoured
The lessons imparted by the wise teachers
The highs and lows, the joys and sorrows
I am the love that surrounds me
The pain that has shaped me
I am a tapestry woven from intricate threads
Each on a piece of the puzzle that is me

I am the laughter of my friends, the tears of my family
The whispers of the wind, the rustling of leaves
I am the music that moves me, the words that inspire me
I am the sunlight that warms my skin, the rain that cleanses my soul
I am the strength of those who have supported me
The courage of those who have walked beside me
I am a mosaic of memories, a collage of emotions
Each one adding a new layer to my identity

I am the kindness of strangers, the warmth of a hug
The smile of a child, the wisdom of the elderly
I am the resilience of a survivor, the determination of a dreamer
I am the passion of an artist, the creativity of a writer
I am the curiosity of a seeker, the humility of a learner
I am a melody of voices, a symphony of experiences
Each one harmonizing to create the melody of my existence

I am the fire in my belly, the fire in my heart
The fire that drives me to push beyond my limits
I am the storm that rages within, the calm that follows
I am the shadows that linger, the light that pierces through
I am the hope that sustains me, the faith that guides me
I am a story that is still unfolding, a journey that is far from over
I am a work in progress, a masterpiece in the making
I am who I am, and I am proud of the person I've become.

Who am I, you ask? 
I am a tapestry woven from the threads of life, 
Each strand a memory, a lesson, a piece of me.

I am made from the books I read, 
Pages filled with worlds unknown, 
Characters who whispered secrets in my ear, 
And stories that stayed with me long after the final page was turned.

I am made from the books I read, 
Pages filled with worlds unknown, 
Characters who whispered secrets in my ear, 
And stories that stayed with me long after the final page was turned.

I am made of the experiences I have encountered, 
The highs and lows that have shaped my journey, 
The moments of triumph that filled me with joy, 
And the setbacks that tested my resolve.

I am made of your love, 
A warmth that surrounds me like a gentle embrace, 
A beacon of light in the darkness, 
A reminder that I am never alone.

I am made of the pain I have endured, 
The heartaches that left scars on my soul, 
The tears shed in moments of loneliness, 
And the strength that emerged from the ashes of despair.

I am made of laughter and joy, 
The sound of friends sharing in moments of pure bliss, 
The echoes of childhood innocence, 
And the simple pleasures that bring light to my days.
I am made of the arguments with my parents, 
The clashes of wills that taught me to stand my ground, 
The disagreements that tested the bonds of family, 
And the love that always remained, even in the midst of conflict.

I am made of the chattering of young children, 
Their voices like music to my ears, 
Their curiosity a reminder of the wonder in the world, 
And their innocence a balm to my weary soul.

I am made of the warmth from kind strangers, 
The gestures of kindness that restore my faith in humanity, 
The moments of connection with those I may never see again, 
And the reminder that we are all connected in this journey called life.

I am made of stitchings from cracked hearts, 
The pieces of brokenness that I have carried with me, 
The wounds that have healed but still leave their mark, 
And the reminder that even the damaged can find beauty in their scars.

I am made of bitter words from heated arguments, 
The sharp edges of conflict that have sharpened my resolve, 
The misunderstandings that have taught me the value of communication, 
And the recognition that words have the power to wound or heal.

I am made of music that gets me through, 
The melodies that soothe my soul in times of trouble, 
The lyrics that speak to the deepest parts of me, 
And the rhythm that moves me when words fail.

I am made of emotions I cannot convey, 
The depths of feeling that often go unspoken, 
The complexities of the heart that defy explanation, 
And the understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words.

I am made of all these people and moments, 
The tapestry of my life unfolding in vibrant hues, 
Each thread a part of who I am, 
Each memory a brushstroke in the portrait of my soul.

That is who I am,
 A masterpiece in progress,
 A work of art still being painted,  
A journey of self-discovery that never ends.

2026: Identity

Sat, 03 Jan 2026 14:47:09 -0700

Arbitrary or not, I have been trained to reflect and hope around the winter holidays. If I don’t buzz with ideas, it feels like I’ve lost my mojo. I’ve had a tradition of choosing a word for each year that guides me, so this year it is: Identity. So here are my thoughts…

“The times they are a-changing,” and so am I. I have decided that this year I am going to focus on exploring who I have been and who I want to become. I have several aspects of my identity, thus the whole “multitudes” thing. After reflecting on 2025, three parts of my identity stood out: mom, activist, and music lover. There was obviously the part where I grappled with who I am as a cancer “survivor,”—that word still doesn’t resonate with me, but I haven’t found a good replacement. Mostly, though, I had enough energy to return to some of the most essential parts of myself.

While it’s not a resolution per se, I would like to focus more intentionally on a few more aspects of myself in 2026 and beyond.

Wife
Learner
Creative
Planner
Traveler
Believer
F1 Fan

I will continue to define who I am as a Mom as my kids become more independent as teens. This is honestly frightening, and I can’t say I’m coping well with this so far. My identity is so wrapped up in them, and their growth this year has honestly made me reflect more on who I am.

My passion for human rights will obviously remain. I continue to explore how I can plug in and precipitate change without drowning in hopelessness about the world and the human condition. I hope to create or become part of a “village” focused on community support. The concept of a village is intriguing and aligns with my values; however, I never seem to be able to break into something that already exists, and I don’t really have enough local friends to start something. I am going to have to earnestly commit to leaning into discomfort on this one.

That pesky little aspect of me that, as much as I don’t want it to be, is now a part of my story, “cancer survivor,” needs some exploration as well. My intention for that, though, is solely to remain hopeful for “unremarkable” reports. Will the lasting effects of chemo continue to impact my life and what I can and can’t do? Yes. Will I have triggering moments that send me into the fetal position? Probably. Do I feel the need to delve deeper into what I went through? Not really. So we will see how that goes.

I will write about 2025 as a mom, an activist, and a music lover in follow-up posts. I actually have at least one of those fully drafted, so I will genuinely follow through this time.

TTFN

It Creeps Up On You

Sun, 14 Dec 2025 15:18:38 -0700

Dang it! I have so many drafts about other musings, but here I am hitting a trauma wall that I didn’t know existed. There was some confusion about whether I needed a colonoscopy this year, so it didn’t happen in October. Lucky me gets to have my colonoscopy on Wednesday 12/17. I was nervous about my colonoscopy last year, but I don’t think I felt this deep pit in my stomach and this sudden rush of tears. My guess is that it is just too close to my surgery day 2 years ago, 12/18/23. Of course I have the usual colonoscopy prep dread, especially because I have not been officially instructed on what to do so that I don’t end up vomiting at 4am once again. I’m feeling pretty cavalier about the whole anesthesia this time. I even have the rest of the family scheduled to take William out for his Twenty-Sided Tavern event that evening.

As I looked through my calendar for reminders this week, and I saw “colonoscopy 12/17” there was this feeling of wanting to collapse and curl up into a ball. It’s not like it was a surprise. I’ve had it scheduled. I’ve reminded people that I won’t be available. However, that moment, seeing it on my reminders, hit me hard. Trauma is weird. I don’t really appreciate how it can sneak up on you. You think you’ve processed it and that you aren’t vulnerable anymore, and then it comes up and punches you in the gut. Dammit.

Well, I have my process mapped out to hopefully prevent the worst of the prep for me. I am going on a clear liquid diet starting Monday. Tuesday is my official prep day, so my theory is that I can take it slower and at a pace that doesn’t make my body want to explode out of all orifices since I won’t have as much to clear out for Wednesday. It’s the only thing this non-medical professional can think to do. I sure as heck don’t want to have to repeat a prep day, so here’s to hoping I run clear Wednesday morning.

Go get your colonoscopy! I promise it’s not bad for most people. I just have a messed up stomach that cannot hold as much liquid as the prep requires. Everyone else I know that has had one has no issues. Don’t delay, please!

No Kings Day part 2

Sat, 18 Oct 2025 14:41:57 -0700

I had to make my own plans as @cleverdevil is out of town and Colette had musical rehearsal. However, my trusty protest friend joined me. It is always so inspiring to be with people who share your passion and compassion. The horns were blaring. The chants were energizing. The signs were creative and cutting.

Even though I took a different approach to this protest, as I walked around more than standing on the curbside, I am completely moved. I watched as a proud, compassionate mother and her son went to cover a hurtful and unnecessary sign with indignation and bravery. I was particularly proud of this kid keeping his arm raised for almost two hours in solidarity with and protectiveness of those the sign targeted.

While they ran cover, literally, I opened up a conversation with one of the “soldiers of God.” I inquired about his sign condemning specific people to hellfire. I asked him if he was guilty of any of the acts of disobedience that he condemns others for. He explained that when he overdosed he cried out to God and he was saved. He felt that he needed to be at this rally to convince others to repent for what he considers sins deserving of the wrath of God. I asked him if he felt shaming others was productive. I asked did shame work for him when he was in his pre-Christian life. He maintained that friends shamed him, and he found it helpful when he hit rock bottom and decided to call out to God. I am skeptical of that stance. I told him that I didn’t think he has hate in his heart, but I do think his desire to love others is misguided and actually doing more harm than good. When I asked about specific acts that he claims to be abominations, he said he hasn’t done those things in 8 years since he has been saved. These are things that every human being does whether with an unhindered conscience or with guilt and shame and fear of condemnation. It was sad to me that he lives in such denial so that he can feel loved by God.

As a deconstructed Christian, it broke my heart to see a person loving God out of fear. Pascal proposes The Wager, and sure that could be a wise decision. However, a life in fear of losing love for being human is not a life of joy in my experience. Sharing a message that you are not deserving of God’s love unless you deny who you are may convert some people, but is that a conviction of heart or a desire to be loved and saved from some proposed hellfire?

I can speak the language of these men. I know what they’ve been told. I used to say or think some of the same things, and I fear I made some people who really needed to feel loved sadly feel unloved by me despite my intentions being “pure.” I asked this man questions, and his training hadn’t taught him the “right” answers, because I knew the “right” answers. I didn’t call him on it. I just continued to ask him questions that may eventually have him open his mind.

One satisfying part of this conversation with this misguided man was his acknowledgment that he does struggle with whether he believes in the death penalty. He said this as he stood shoulder to shoulder with a fellow “soldier of God” who had a giant sign condemning specific populations to death. While one could be tempted to agree with this sign as it listed the horrific crimes of rape, murder, and pedophilia. (I don’t personally support the death penalty) This sign lumped in LGBTQ+ people with those other things. That hurt my heart. It hurt my heart for LGBTQ+ people, especially those to whom I am closest. Having a giant sign telling you that you deserve death and the same fate as the other “sinners” listed seems like the least productive way to move someone toward any religion.

My heart was full of pride and admiration as people followed these men around in order to cover their bigoted signs with their own signs of love, resistance to the wannabe king, and a call to protecting democracy. Seeing a community come together to fight injustice and protect marginalized people stirred emotions of connection. Advocacy can feel lonely sometimes. These No Kings protests may not have any direct effect on stopping the destruction of our democracy, but they do fill up people who have been working in their own ways in their communities. We can leave these protests feeling ready to fight on, to find different ways to resist, and to support those who most need us.

I feel like crying. It’s a cry of sadness for those who are blind to loving people the way they need to be loved. Mostly though, it’s a cry of feeling proud, connected, and inspired.

Go forth and love others.

The Unremarkable Lacey LaCour

Tue, 14 Oct 2025 00:49:28 -0700

Well, I kept putting off this post, because I kept waiting for each test to come back “unremarkable.” Routine cancer monitoring blood work, chest CT, abdomen CT, pelvis CT, Signatera/ctDNA bloodwork, and mammogram all came back as unremarkable. Praise the Lord! There was one minor issue in that I am anemic, so my oncologist is ordering an iron infusion to combat that. Otherwise, I’m in the clear. Until my next bloodwork which will be in November and then scans again in February.

The test I was waiting to have done, so that I could share with 100% confidence that I am completely unremarkable is my colonoscopy. Currently there is some debate about whether or not I need one this year. All I know is that if I do have one, we’ve gotta make some adjustments to the prep, because I REALLY don’t want to be hunched over vomiting in the shower for the 3rd colonoscopy prep in a row. I need to follow up to either get the scheduling done or know for sure we aren’t doing one this year, but it’s kind of an easy thing to put off.

A test that has been added to the mix is called Signatera. I had originally asked for it when I was diagnosed.

“Signatera™ is custom-built to your unique set of tumor mutations to predict colorectal cancer recurrence. Because it is highly sensitive it can detect very small traces of tumor in your body so you can know earlier if cancer is present and make more informed decisions regarding your treatment.”

The caveat for this test is that there is a risk of false positives. Some oncologists recommend against having this test, because it doesn’t change the protocol of bloodwork every 3 months and scans every 6 months, which is the gold standard protocol. If I were to get a positive, they would order scans and redo the Signatera test, so there is potential for it to cause undue anxiety. This is why my oncologists originally told me not to get it done. However, a friend of mine who was diagnosed with Stage 2 colon cancer did have this test done, and it ended up being the only indicator that her cancer had returned. She had to escalate to a PET Scan to determine that her previously Stage 2 cancer had metastasized and become Stage 4 cancer. Without Signatera, it’s possible that she could have gone much longer without knowing the havoc that was going on inside her body. That was all the convincing I needed to advocate a bit more strongly for myself to order that test. I did, however, tell my oncologist not to tell me the results unless there was reason to worry and change any sort of protocol. Well, I think she forgot, because she told me it was negative, which is obviously good. But now if she doesn’t tell me the results, I’m going to be anxious until she confirms next steps. I am thankful that we did the test though, and I’ll just have to do a lot of deep breathing and hopeful thinking if the result ever changes.

One year post-chemo with no signs of recurrence is a good milestone, but it is one that scares me to celebrate. As a person who is always waiting for the other shoe to drop, I have a hard time breathing a sigh of relief. My thoughts like to swirl to tell me that if I do find comfort, things are going to get quite messy. It’s a constant battle to tell that asshole voice to shut up and let me enjoy things for a moment.

Here’s to hoping that I continue to be unremarkable!

The Thing about Neuropathy is…

Fri, 22 Aug 2025 16:19:52 -0700

You have to be careful with your footing. I’ve recently found a great pt/rehab place that is helping me gain some strength so that when I do have those unavoidable falters I can catch myself. Unfortunately, two sessions was not enough to prevent my birthday buster.

I was actually having a good birthday. I slept in, took a shower, and got ready for my lunch meet up with a friend. As I was getting dressed, I was thinking about how proud of myself I was that I was actually leaving the house for my birthday. I didn’t want it to feel last year’s chemo birthday even though I love a good all day in bed sesh. A friend texted me to ask me how my bday was going. As a responsible driver, I delayed texting her back while I was on my way to lunch, but I was crafting the message in my head, “Actually, I’m on my way to meet a friend for lunch at a French cafe.” Well, I never sent that message.

I pulled into the parking deck to find myself behind the friend I was meeting, so I didn’t stay in the car to text. I fell for the “scan QR code” for contactless payment, but darn it if those things don’t take longer than the dang walk-up payment. Anyway, as I figured that out, we realized the elevator was shut down. We both have some stability issues, so we commented that we needed to hold the rail as we walked down the stairs toward the busy pier.

Well, you see, apparently holding the rail was not enough to keep me from tripping up. I flung forward rolling my ankle as I slipped down a few stairs catching myself on my knee with a little head bump on the rail for good measure. My friend rushed to my side to help me. I had a fleeting moment of “oh, I’m fine.” But that was very fleeting. I looked around and saw a few people looking trying to decide if they should intervene. They seemed to be confident that my friend could help me. In that same flash every bit of “I am strong. I will be fine. Stop worrying about your upcoming scans. You aren’t doomed to have a recurrence” left my body. I heaved forward in tears and agony while protecting my ankle. “Didn’t it just figure. Last year I was in the hospital. This year couldn’t possibly be normal, could it?”

A gentleman who was having lunch at a restaurant on the pier came over to see if he could help with anything. He asked if we needed him to call anyone, but my friend, feeling protective, told him thank you but no we have phones. He asked if he could get ice or anything. I don’t really remember what the decision on that was, but he returned to his lunch. A few minutes later a waiter came with a cup of ice for me, so I suppose he sent that along without a definitive answer. I was grateful.

With my French cafe lunch fully off the agenda now, we started to plan how to get me home. My right ankle was beginning to resemble a softball, and I could barely put any weight on it. Aside from the physical pain, I was just totally mentally overwhelmed with this new devellopment. We called @cleverdevil to work out a plan for making sure Colette had a ride home from school and that he could come retrieve my car with my friend later. I sat on the stairs icing my ankle while my friend brought her car around and down to the bottom of the stairs. I hobbled into the front seat and off we headed towards home—croque monsieur-less and eclair-less.

My friend was optimistic that this was going to be okay. It will just be a day or two of bad pain and then a week of nursing it back to my most recent baseline. I was a bit more skeptical, because this fall felt eerily familiar to the fall I took in 2017 which completely destroyed my ankle. I had some optimism that it wouldn’t sideline me quite as much bc it hadn’t gotten as big as the 2017 injury yet. Having had that injury in 2017 though, I decided not to go to urgent care or anything. I’d stay home, take pain meds, wrap it, ice it, and go see an orthopedist the next day. I was determined not to see a doctor on my birthday.

I adjusted my birthday expectations and plans and sat myself in my recliner for the rest of the day. Aside from the pain and frustration from not being mobile, the rest of the day was good. @cleverdevil had the best birthday presentation for me, which I will detail in the next post. We ordered Outback for dinner, so I could have my comfort meal of Alice Springs Chicken with a wedge salad and baked potato. Sheny made a yummy cake for which @cleverdevil made a Tahitian vanilla bean frosting and which Colette decorated. The day was fairly redeemed by that point.

The next day I had my orthopedist appt. They did x-rays of course on both my knee and ankle. Good news: My knee was intact just a sore contusion to manage. My ankle didn’t require surgery. Bad news: I managed to give myself an “avulsion fracture.” It sounds worse than it is. Basically when I fell and stretched my ligaments they pulled a piece of bone with them.

So, here I am, 2 days later with a walking boot, a bruised knee, and a swollen ankle sidelined for a potential 3 weeks. I do feel a little bit more optimistic that it will not be the full 3 weeks, because I can already straighten my toes and do a tiny circle with my ankle. I’ve just gotta get to the point where I don’t squeal then I move my ankle to the sides or up and down, then I can drive again and maybe get back to that more normal feeling quickly. I am fully aware that I will be needing PT for it, and I’m hoping it will actually be better than what my pre-cancer baseline was. My ankle was never the same after 2017..

Trying to have a positive perspective, I’m hoping that a broken ankle is the worst news in the next few weeks. Scans are on 8/28. 1yr oncology follow-up is 9/10. I’ll take the ankle beatdown over cancer any day.

Alas, here we are…onward.

I wish you would stay in my memories

Thu, 07 Aug 2025 13:56:04 -0700

In the spirit of leaning into that post-cancer “carpe diem” mentality that I feel like I’ve been missing, I’ve been saying “yes” more than “no” lately. It tends to include clevercolette only bc she is the one that likes to venture out of the house.

Sometimes “carpe diem” kicks my butt though. I’m currently sitting in bed waiting for my psychiatry telehealth appt biding my time until I can take a nap.

Today we woke up early to go to a Conan Gray pop-up event called “Cafe Gray.” A 7am departure plus a 2 hour line ended up being worth it. Clevercolette and her bestie got to see Conan Gray perform a short, intimate set. They missed out on the autographs, but many people missed out on the set, so I think they got their core memory. If you haven’t listened to his music, I suggest you give it a try. Much of his music is about unrequited love and quite sentimental, and he will blow you away with his vocal range. There are some great 80s inspired tunes that may bring up some nostalgia and have you popping in your favorite audio cassette. Well, who are we kidding? You can just find it on your favorite streaming app. Check out Bourgeoisies and Lonely Dancer for that 80s throwback.

You know Debbie Downer has to enter the chat. We brought clevercolette’s rollator. We tend to share it when we are out together. Well, I definitely needed it. That damn neuropathy really puts a damper on things. It was also quite hot, and ever since chemo, I seem to have a bit of trouble regulating my temperature. I get very red in the face and I get that chills and clamminess in the heat feeling. While clevercolette waited in hopes of meeting Conan, I laid down on the stage with my feet propped up on the rollator. Thankfully she had something to lean on and a helpful Conan fan literally fanning her to keep her from fainting. The thing that is hardest to understand about neuropathy pain is that it is not a sharp pain. It is just a constant nagging that wears you down. You get moving, but after too much standing or walking your nerves are frayed. I often feel like curling up into a ball and crying, but I push through in situations like this. So yes, 15 more minutes until my brief psychiatry appointment, then I will pass out.

Overall, I’m glad I said yes. It was a sweet experience that I am happy to have been able to chaperone for my clevercolette.

While his songs aren’t about my experience, I like to pull lyrics that resonate and that I can apply to my very different path. So I leave you with Memories. (I relate this to my cancer journey, not a person)

“I wish that you would stay in my memories But you show up today, just to ruin things I wanna put you in the past ‘cause I’m traumatized”

Almost a year

Wed, 06 Aug 2025 23:50:57 -0700

One year scans are scheduled for 8/28. Official 1year oncology follow up is 9/10. I’d be lying to say I’m not worried that those are bad news days. The fear of recurrence runs deep.

I am starting to come out of my fetal position of trauma and fear. I can’t say that I’ve reflected and processed, but I do feel like I can put myself out in the world a bit more.

Visiting family in Atlanta, especially my brothers, was a much needed tank refueling. I love them and their little families so much, and I wish we could be with them more often. It’s always good to have the warm embrace of my in-laws as well. Seeing my kids connect with their cousins no matter how long it’s been since the last time they’ve seen them is precious.

Both of my kids have shown incredible growth this summer, both physically and emotionally. Clevercolette is finding her place in this world and learning how she is going to make her mark. Cleverlildevil has been learning that the world doesn’t have to feel so scary outside of his room and away from his digital safety nets. Also, I think they’ve each grown 2inches over the summer!

The day we returned from ATL we took a quick rest, then we headed to the Hollywood Bowl for Jesus Christ Superstar. That was an experience I won’t forget. The talent was unbelievable. Cynthia Erivo did her thing blowing people away with her range and emotional performance. Adam Lambert enthralled me with his rock n’ roll soul. Raul Esparza, Brian Crum, and Zachary James were new to me, but they totally inspired me to find them on social media to follow their careers. Milo Mannheim is steaming ahead in his stage career, and he definitely has the chops to make his mark. Josh Gad lifted the crowd with his comedic choices. And for me, Phillipa Soo was the one who still stirs a familiar emotion. Her voice as Mary just makes me safe and loved. I could fall asleep to her singing me lullabies. I doubt it’s on the horizon but I’d adore a cast album of this performance. One thing I’m certain of: I don’t need or desire to see any other production of Jesus Christ Superstar.

I find myself seeking music and musicals to help me access my emotions. Our calendar is full of concerts and shows this Fall. Wasia Project, Conan Gray, Chappell Roan, Age of Madness, Hadestown, Moulin Rouge, and more.

And then comes the anxiety and pessimism assuming the other shoe is going to drop. It’s scary to make plans for the future when you know cancer could be lurking. Alas, I must have peace in knowing that the monitoring protocol should raise flags before anything progresses too far.

If we’re talking about love-hate relationships…the bummer of the summer has been cleverdevil’s travel schedule. I’m happy that he is enjoying his work and being validated in what he brings to the business world, but we miss him when he’s gone. You’d think by now, some 21 years later, I’d be used to him traveling. But I still have a hard time sleeping when he’s gone, and it’s not bc my kids try to come take over our bed. I’m not a sad, useless lump when he travels, but I definitely feel like I’m missing my rock.

All in all, it’s been a good summer. It went by too quickly. One kid starting high school and the other starting middle school is a bit jarring for this mama’s heart, but I’m proud of them. They’re ready for their next steps, even if I’m not ready for mine.

Onward.

What’s Your Damage?

Tue, 27 May 2025 16:14:00 -0700

So, today I went in for my blood draw for my 3month oncology follow up. I have been feeling mildly nervous about it. I’m still doing that push the thoughts and feelings away thing. However, when I was done with my appointment, I was on the verge of tears for a good 15min. Even though the phlebotomist had to poke me in my arm and fan around and then in my hand and fan around, I know the tears weren’t due to physical pain.

It’s that buzzword: Trauma. It’s trauma I don’t want to have. It’s trauma that makes me feel weak to admit that I have. Cancer sucks. Chemo sucked. I didn’t realize how horrible chemo was until I finished and regained even just a little normalcy. As much as I was down and out through my treatment, I also felt like I was coping pretty well emotionally. Well, if you call unwillingness to allow your emotions to get mixed up in the whole process. The theme of “onward” was exactly that. I took my lessons from Elsa, “Conceal, don’t feel.” But I was so good at the ‘conceal” part that even I didn’t know what I was feeling.

What I do know is that I have scars: physical and mental. My port scar that still itches and shoots pain in my chest several times a day can easily bring me back to remembering the feeling of being connected to a pump for 48hrs. The heat that I felt. The lack of appetite. The total exhaustion. Those memories make me feel sick to my stomach, and I want to curl up into a ball and cry, but I don’t.

My neuropathy is something I just live with. It’s always there. It’s like background noise until it isn’t. It turns up the volume with moderate exercise or travel. It’s kind of like noises in my life now: the constant hum of a bathroom fan is mildly irritating, but when someone turns the fan off, the relief I feel is euphoric. If my neuropathy ever goes away, I think it may just feel like that. For now, the most frustrating part of my neuropathy is that I would like to be able to be a bit more active, but knowing that it just aggravates the tingling and burning sensations is a mighty obstacle. Even more so, since I don’t have a reliable way to make it quickly settle down.

It’s not all doom and gloom. I have much to be grateful for, and I have some things that can reliably lift my spirits:

— Seeing more musicals

— Formula 1 weekends

— Planning travel adventures

— Then the more obvious: time spent with @cleverdevil, my kiddos, my puppos, and my family group chats

And not to end on too happy of a note, all of the above is not experienced in a vacuum. I am still acutely, perhaps too intensely, aware of what’s going on in our country and around the world.

Alas, it’s a bittersweet symphony

Some Days Are Diamonds

Sat, 10 May 2025 11:08:13 -0700

I guess I left yall hanging. All scans and blood tests were clear in February. I have bloodwork coming up at the end of May.

The excitements since January:

—2 birthday parties for Colette’s 14th. One with a Broadway theme and one with a “Retro” rom-com theme. Yes, retro was late 90s and early 2000s

—A Broadway trip to New York that was delayed due to my cancer last year, but truly ended up being serendipitous in its timing.

—Colette’s last exhibition of middle school and William’s last exhibition of elementary school. Like always, they both nailed it. They definitely got their public speaking genes from @cleverdevil.

—A bucket list trip to Tahiti. Ever since I learned Tahiti existed when I was in 7th grade in French class, I set my heart on going there one day. I had fantasized about it for my honeymoon one day, but the reality of getting married at age 22 didn’t exactly include such funds. But, 21 years later, we got there!

—Official neurology testing to make sure that my peripheral neuropathy and slight balance issues are a result of chemo and not anything else. It has been confirmed as such, however, it’s basically still a wait and see to see if anything changes, ever. But again, I will take this over cancer any day!

—And currently, I am writing this from my car waiting to go into Colette’s 2nd of 6 shows this weekend. I bet you never knew H&H Salesgirl in Legally Blonde could be such a pivotal role. However, with her one squirt of Love by Chanel, and a line so perfectly delivered, Emmett and Elle’s fate was sealed. I’m super proud of Colette for managing her pain and for her commitment to her role and to making sure everyone in the cast and crew is supported.

It seems as though I owe some posts about Costa Rica, New York, and Tahiti. I’ll get to those.

As for the cancer side of things, I’ve recently decided it’s time to find someone to process the experience with me. I seem to have created a wall of numbness to the world that has been rarely broken through since diagnosis. While I’d like to work through some of that, the wall also feels a bit necessary at this point in our global timeline. So, I don’t think I’ll be doing any Kool-Aid Man style processing.

New Year, No Chemo

Sat, 04 Jan 2025 18:08:42 -0700

I’m still trying to figure out this post-chemo lifestyle. I’ve recaptured many aspects of my pre-cancer life, but there’s also a sense of blissful ignorance that will never return.

As we approached October, my brain started to go on high alert, as that was the month I was diagnosed. I kept thinking about all of the anniversaries from October through December: diagnostic scans, blood draws, surgery… I had to remind myself to dwell in gratitude not trauma. Each anniversary I considered writing a post, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I think I figured if I allowed myself to reflect too much it would drag me down.

It’s the new year, so I am forcing myself to do some reflection and updating. I have had quite a few areas of re-entry into “normal” life. I’ll share them in a list.

Food! Glorious food! I finally have my taste back and my tongue looks relatively normal for someone who has always had a geographic tongue. My favorites are starting to taste like I remember them. I’m quite grateful for that. But tbh, there is that part of me that wishes I didn’t like food as much again, bc I fall into our society’s lies of “losing weight is always good.” Good thing I know that putting myself on a liquid diet is not actually a healthy choice.
Driving Miss Colettey. I say Colettey because my little dude does not have quite the social life that Colette does. In late October, I ventured out driving despite my neuropathy. I can feel things enough to drive, but movement and pressure does intensify the burning and tingling. I have resumed about 90% my previous driving responsibilities
Appointments. No, I’m not appointing a federal cabinet or judges, I’m making and taking myself and the kids to all the appointments now. Eye doctor, Loeys-Dietz monitoring scans, cardiologist, oncology scans and follow ups, blood draws, dentist, orthodontist, primary doc, acupuncture, physical therapy. All the things.
Neuropathy. The progress: I am driving and opening cans and bottles and most packaging on my own now. That’s the only mark of progress I can really say. I’m not sure if my symptoms have improved or if I’ve just learned how to do these things without full feeling in my fingertips and feet. My hands, feet, fingers, and toes have a constant baseline of a tingling, burning, and numbness. Those sensations intensify with use. For example, my fingertips are on fire after typing this far into the update. The best way to describe the feeling is when your hand or foot falls asleep, and it’s waking up. That tingling that kind of feels grainy and you want to stomp your foot or slam your hands to get them to wake up…that’s the constant baseline. I have been trying electric stimulation and laser therapy, but I can’t say I’ve seen much improvement. I tried gabapentin, but my body was not a fan. At this point, I do some light massage and take Tylenol to help me fall asleep. We shall see if I see any improvement. But I am learning to live with it. I’ll take neuropathy over cancer.
Travel. I had my 3ish month post-chemo follow-up on November 5th to make sure my immune system was back up to snuff for travel. On November 16th, the LaCour Four took off to Costa Rica. I chose Costa Rica as our first post-chemo travel destination, because we had been there as a family in 2016 and it was one of my favorite vacations. This time did not disappoint. I’ll link to that report here…when I write it!
Surveillance. I’m trying to figure out how to not feel paralyzed between follow up appointments and scans. I tend to want to hibernate and hide when I am anticipating something I don’t have much control over or information about. Between currently getting baseline scans to see if my vascular system is showing any signs of Loeys-Dietz effects and oncology follow-ups with bloodwork every 3mos and follow-ups with scans and bloodwork every 6mos, my psyche wants me to freeze until I get more information. It is real work for me to lean into living the daily routine and into following through with passion projects. The instinct to numb out, space out, or to distract myself with the mundane is strong.
Carpe Diem. There is a part of me that feels like I should be on the other side of this living my best life. Not sweating the little things, etc… I can pressure myself into being a bit more daring by saying, “I made it through chemo. I can do this,” whatever “this” may be. But that also doesn’t feel authentic to how I feel on this side of things. I still feel pretty beaten down by the past year. Yes, I survived. I went through a lot. People say they admire my strength or they are proud of me or whatever the thing is to say to someone who is done with chemo, hopefully forever. Internally though, I don’t have some sort of “Damn girl, you did that,” monologue. I have a “Wow, that was worse than I realized it was while I was going through it. I’m glad that’s over. For now. Forever. Hopefully. Man, I’m exhausted from all of that. I’m likely traumatized, and I have no idea how to really process it,” monologue. So maybe I’ll get to that “carpe diem” phase or that “empowered survivor” phase, but I’d say for now it’s more of a “get yourself out of bed and do something today” phase.

So that’s where I am. I have one more MRA to get full results and a follow-up with my cardiologist to discuss what treatment and monitoring for Loeys-Dietz symptoms will be. I have my oncology follow up with bloodwork and CTs on February 6th. I guess that means I better get those appointments scheduled…

Onward.

Tue, 24 Sep 2024 16:46:24 -0700

In the spirit of contuing to avoid, I wrote this last Wednesday. It all still pertains to the truth.

I keep putting off posting an update because I want to post that now that chemo is over all is well. While I am thrilled to be no evidence of disease, I’m struggling with what this immediate post-chemo phase is.

When I think back to infusion and pump days, my stomach and body go into knots. I didn’t fully realize how bad I felt on those days. That grin and bear it attitude didn’t allow for much dwelling on that part.

The main complaints that I had during treatment continue to be struggles. My taste is still not back enough to enjoy food. It’s back enough to eat food and to not immediately feel disgusted by the taste. My tongue still looks weird. A smooth tongue it is not. My neuropathy is frustratingly disabling. I can’t open packages or containers bc my fingers are always buzzing and numb. I can’t put on jewelry bc you need to be able to have the dexterity and feeling to open and close clasps or to put earrings in. I slept in a necklace the other night, but woke up feeling like I was being strangled. I wasn’t. My necklace was far from doing so. A simple fix would have been to just take the necklace off, but I couldn’t. So I did a lot of deep breathing, held onto the necklace and eventually fell back asleep. But there is something scary about feeling anxious, knowing what would fix it, but not being able to do that thing without help. Also, I can’t walk very far because ny legs give out from trying to navigate walking when you can barely feel your feet and legs. I haven’t driven yet because I don’t fully trust my post-chemo body yet. The idea of driving when I can barely feel my hands and feet seems like a bad idea. It’s definitely going to take baby steps. Finally the fatigue. I don’t have full on crash days, unless I expend a lot of energy in a highly stimulating environment: see Hamilton and Disneyland. However, I haven’t made it through a day without a nap. I get to the point where I can’t keep my eyes open. On the flip side, I have trouble falling asleep at night because that seems to be the time when my neuropathy likes to tingle and burn the most.

So while I’m not getting biweekly infusions of chemotherapy anymore, post-chemo recovery is a thing. Those drugs zapped the cancers, and they did a number on my body. My recent blood test still have me severely immunocompromised and my platelets are quite low. I have bruises all over my legs, some in the shape of paw prints. A pug using your legs as a springboard from which to jump does not go well with low platelets and blood thinners. In addition to paw prints, I just get seemingly random bruises from a slight bump into a chair, bed, wall, or other fixed features. Why am I bumping into these things? See neuropathy. But also just general clumsiness. Speaking of clumsiness…for you moms out there who were pregnant, remember the dropsies? When things seemed to just randomly fall out of your hands? Yeah, that’s definitely happening. It’s a good thing I have a good case on my phone!

As hard as this phase is physically and mentally, don’t get me wrong. I have ventured out into the world a few times, and I have had the energy to interact more with the kids. Our family trip to the Pantages to see Hamilton and afterwards to stage door to get signatures was amazing. I had my moments of losing balance and not enjoying dinner, but putting those aside it was a special time for us.

We had also planned a Disneyland visit on 9/12 when my chemotherapy was supposed to end in July, I decided to keep the reservation, and we went. However I had learned from our Hamilton excursion that I needed to put some things in place to enjoy our time. I got a hotel room so I could go and take a nap while the rest of our crew stayed in the park, and I also rented a mobility scooter. That was definitely a hard step psychologically to accept that I needed that aid, but I also knew that it wasn’t an option if I wanted to be able to enjoy any of my time there with the family. We had a great time. We all “Disney bounded” upon Colette’s usual request. We did the original Disney crew: Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Goofy, Clarabell, and Pete. I picked Pete bc what beats overalls for comfort? One of the highlights of the day for me was getting to meet Pete. He was flabbergasted to see how similar we looked together :)

it hasn’t been all bad, but I have struggled a lot with posting this update. I think there might be a hesitation to share this part of the journey bc once chemo is over, you want to put it all behind you. A part of your life nicely compartmentalized that began with diagnosis and ended with last treatment. I knew it wouldn’t be exactly that because of the thorough monitoring for the next 5 years, but this phase is a bit more than that. My hope is that I don’t have to deal with the after effects of chemo for very long, but I do know the memories and trauma of going through cancer treatment will always be a memory my body keeps. I’m just not at the point of celebrating that I got through it yet, because I don’t feel like I’m through it.

Thus I will continue to press onward.

P.S. Check my instagram or FB for photos of Disneyland and a video of my awesome encounter with Pete there.